


Dirty Dancing

by dollylux



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Dirty Dancing, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Public Claiming, Public Sex, dance club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title is pretty much self-explanatory!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Dancing

It had taken Cris two hours to talk Ricky into going out. It had taken another hour to force him into the shower (and half an hour to fuck him there) and another forty-five minutes to get him into a tightly fitted t-shirt and some jeans that made his ass look as Brasilian as it is. They leave for the club and arrive and their entrance is a dark one, a back one, an absolutely discreet one that told Ricky that Cris has maybe done this a couple of times.

Cris turns to Ricky as they walk into the black door and gives him an intimate, small smile, one that makes Ricky's heart swell and makes their fingers tighten in their loose tangle. The music swallows up all other sound and they swim into it, into the smoked bright lights and the living being that is the Crowd, that is a movement of bodies like a school of fish or a flock of birds or leaves in a tree, something that moves together instinctively, moves to the music that isn't exactly to Ricky's taste but it's perfect for dancing, it draws even the shyest of hips into dirty movement and that is exactly what Cris is counting on.

He pulls Ricky to the dance floor and he can feel how nervous he is, he can sense how those large, dark eyes are darting from side to side in absolute fear of being seen, of being caught. He slips a finger into one of the belt loops of Ricky's tight jeans and tugs him up against his body, his own smile curling and wanting already. He presses his hips forward and Ricky's eyes widen for how forward Cris is being here (in _public_ ), but he wraps his arms around his neck anyway. They grind together without hesitation, Cris' hands splaying on the very lowest part of Ricky's back, so low that it was nearly just cupping his ass instead and he draws Ricky forward that way, reveling in the small sound he makes, the small, wanting sound and he starts to move their hips to the beat and that inspires the first flush of Ricky's cheeks.

"Don't be shy," Cris murmurs into Ricky's ear as he slides his hands up under the back of his shirt, rubbing at downy skin and long muscles. "I've watched you ride me for hours. I've seen you move those hips."

"Cris." Ricky gasps and Cris can tell he's smiling, that he scandalized but aroused and their legs thread between each other's as they dip their bodies to get even closer. He rubs at the back of Cris' neck, soaking up his warmth onto his fingertips and he can feel Cris' heart beating against his own chest and it's all the reassurance he needs, all the safety he requires. He says a quick prayer under his breath and lets his hips curl for the first time and Cris absolutely moans, his hands coming to life on Ricky's body, rubbing wantonly at his ass. Ricky ragdolls in his arms, dancing with Cris but he loves the feeling of being controlled by him, being held up and moved and directed, loves being able to be mindless for awhile, and maybe he loves being so absolutely and unconditionally desired even more.

They dance for five songs, or at least that's the tally in Cris' mind. But the songs meld into each other, they flow together almost seamlessly, designed to keep you dancing, to keep you from abandoning the movement. They make their way over to the bar in spite of that because Cris can see that Ricky needs a break, that he's relaxed now, their hair a little curly from being so sweaty and their bodies burning from the closeness and from dancing so tight for so long. Cris leans against the bar and Ricky presses right up against his side, rubbing his cheek against Cris' bare arm and when Cris looks down at him Ricky's smile takes over the club, making Cris' world almost blindingly bright and he has to restrain himself to keep from leaning down to taste that smile, to take it right down into himself for keeps. Instead he turns to the bartender and lifts up a hand to ask for two bottles of water.

Cris opens his mouth to speak to Ricky but he stops when he feels an arm slide around his waist and he turns to its owner who is standing on the other side, his eyebrows already raised in question. Ricky looks over at the newcomer, a short girl with long dark hair and big, expressive eyes and a full mouth (among other things) and he cannot hold in his frown. Cris leans down to hug her and kiss her on both cheeks and he can tell by their body language, by small details in the way Cris is behaving with her that they've fucked. He turns to Ricky and gives him a tight, apologetic smile.

"Ana, this is Ricky. Ricky, Ana."

Ana smiles at Ricky but it's faint and distracted and her dark eyes find Cris again and she pulls on him with both hands and Ricky can't help but watch his body curve with the tug.

"Come dance with me, Cris. I've missed you." Ana bites into her bottom lip and pouts up at Cris through her expensive eyelashes, tugging him away from the bar and from Ricky and Ricky feels his heart stammer. He reaches out to hook a finger into Cris' jeans and tugs him back toward himself, his mouth definitely in a frown now and though Ana doesn't know it, Ricky is cattier than he seems and definitely catty enough to deal with an amateur like her. Cris looks back at Ricky in surprise and he's even more surprised to see that Ricky is beaming at Ana.

"Sorry, love, he can't. His dance card is full tonight."

Ana barks out a short laugh and looks up at Cris for help and maybe for confirmation that Ricky is lying. Cris hasn't turned away from Ricky and Ana pulls on him to demand his attention. Cris starts to obey but Ricky reaches for Cris completely then, pushing most of his hand down into one of the front pockets of Cris' jeans and when their eyes meet they both feel warmer, much warmer.  
  
"Maybe next time, Ana," Cris mutters, following Ricky who is walking backwards as he tugs on Cris, walking back onto the dancefloor and into the rhythm once again only he's heading toward the dark corner in the back. Cris lets himself be guided and his grin looks confident and heavy with lust. Ricky presses back against a dark purple wall and Cris is on him immediately, kissing him deeply as he clasps his fingers around Ricky's wrists, tugging them straight up on the wall above his head until his body is stretched out long and lovely. Ricky writhes there, lifting his body in an undulating curl from shoulder to ass and he ends it by pressing their lower bodies together, lifting a leg to hook it around Cris' body. Cris grunts into his mouth and holds both of Ricky's wrists in one firm hand while the other slides down his body, shoving Ricky's shirt up to rub at his chest, his stomach, his tight nipples. Ricky's whimper is more of a reward than Cris knows how to handle.

"Why didn't you just tell her that you're mine?" Ricky licks at Cris' bottom lip, his bright eyes trained on Cris', watching his reaction, watching how he's quickly losing control of himself the more seductive Ricky makes his voice. "Why didn't you just tell her that your cock doesn't need anything I can't provide?"

"Fuck," Cris mutters, running his hands around Ricky's stomach and over his ribs until he gets to his back and then he's shoving down the back of his jeans, fighting against denim and elastic and cotton to grip his ass roughly, crushing soft, pliant skin in hungry hands. Ricky lets out a surprising, pornographic whimper and he shoves back into those hands, his arms coming up once again to wrap around Cris' neck.

"Fuck me. Now." He pulls his mouth away to kiss at Cris' jaw, only having a scant moment of it before Cris is turning him around, both hands dipping down Ricky's tight stomach to flick open the button of his jeans, loosening them just enough so that he can shove them down over Ricky's ass, exposing it to the dark club, to the throb of the music and he quickly does the same with his own, glancing around only for a second before he's steadying himself in his hand and driving up into him, burying his face in Ricky's neck so he can savor the sound of Ricky being invaded. He feels him spread out around his cock and he starts his lovely trembling, his hot body flush and his panting little gasps, sounds so fragile and delicious that he sounds like a whore. (Cris tells him so all the time just to feel how tight Ricky gets at the thought, to feel how his pretty cock fills out in his strong hand.)

The first shove digs Ricky straight into the wall, presses him against it from temple to knee and his mouth is parted so beautifully, his muttered prayers going unheard but not unseen as he's hammered into the wall without apology, as hungry hands rub over his body like this moment is truly stolen, like he's something to be savored and never had again, like this is the first time (when in fact it's not even the twentieth, not quite the fortieth). The music goes on around them and they can feel bodies so near, brushing against them as they pass and dance and Cris is almost completely covering Ricky, hiding him from all of it while he takes what he wants. Cris slides his hands down and rubs at Ricky's cock with both of them, rubbing and squeezing and jacking him as he fucks, trapping Ricky with his body completely and Ricky is perilously close to sobbing.

"Go ahead and come, Ricky. My pretty little whore," Cris smiles against Ricky's cheek, breathless himself and his voice is gruff and his stomach is damp with the sweat gathered in the dip of Ricky's back and it wets the pop of his hips against that ass and he squeezes Ricky's cock one more time before he feels him convulsing between him and the wall, before he feels the warmth of his come on his fingertips and he thrusts his own up into him, slicking Ricky's insides hot and deep and Ricky's voice is all he can hear right now, those pleading little prayers, those whispers of his name ( _Cristiano... Cristiano... God help me, you feel so good_ ) and Cris marks his neck with small bites and rough little sucks, loving the little jolts Ricky gives for every sensation. He pulls out of him and they both fix their pants and Ricky turns immediately, wrapping around Cris and kissing him desperately. Cris calms him with his hands and his slow tongue and they don't move from the wall until Ricky is smiling almost drunkenly and curled up quiet at his side, ready to go home now, ready to get back to Cris' bed and be taken again (and again and again and again).


End file.
